


Divergent

by yeaka



Category: Travelers (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 08:27:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20775539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Philip experiences a possibility.





	Divergent

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Set in season 3, technically **spoilers** for an aspect of that.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Travelers or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The twenty-first was never _easy_ for Philip, but there was definitely a time where he could still appreciate it—where he could go outside and feel the sun on his face or listen to the birds for hours. No matter how much his skin crawled or his veins burned, there was still enough _life_ everywhere to give him hope. Each new mission’s chipped a bit more of that away. They diverted Helios. They stopped a pipeline. They’ve infiltrated the senate, and the future still doesn’t seem to be any better for it. The people around him—the natural-born twenty-first-century humans—know all about climate change and corporate corruption, and the vast majority of them still don’t do anything about it. The majority of them don’t _care_. Philip’s probably glimpsed over a hundred different timelines, and some of them are a little better for one of his friends or maybe even two, but the _world’s_ not better. Sometimes he has to get away from the calculations. Sometimes he just sits on the couch and stares around the derelict warehouse, wondering what they’re all doing it for. 

At least he has company now. Trevor’s practically there fulltime, and even if he’s not as cute as Poppy, he’s more talkative. And he still, somehow, seems to hold onto hope. He still sees things worth saving. In a small, secret part of Philip, he admires Trevor and that calm confidence that somehow, despite all the odds, things will be okay. 

Trevor pushes through the heavy doorway and slides it back into place. Philip looks up and over but doesn’t get off the couch. He at least tries not to slouch. He’s still an addict in a way, but he’s not as bad as he was. 

Trevor sees him and meanders right over, weaving around the scattered debris and technology. He’s in sweats, a loose tee, and an open hoodie—he must’ve gone for a run. Philip should’ve gone too, even if Trevor’s a difficult exercise partner. Trevor’s tough, but he’s fun. But Philip doesn’t remember Trevor asking him to go or even leaving in the first place. Trevor’s breathing a little hard from the run, his toned body in its prime. It looks older than it’s supposed to be, and the gleam in Trevor’s eyes is ten times that. Philip still doesn’t know how old Trevor _really_ is. 

Donning a soft smile, Trevor comes right up to the couch and murmurs in his low, gravelly voice, “Hey.”

Philip grunts back, “Hey.”

Then Trevor’s hand is on his shoulder, and Trevor’s climbing up into his lap, straddling his hips. Philip stiffens, taken aback, but Trevor moves with his usual grace and ease, like everything is just how it should be. His fingers brush back into Philip’s loose hair, tangling up at the back, and he leans in to connect their mouths. 

At first, Philip just exhales in surprise. Trevor flattens right over him, tilts to the right and opens wider, slipping a wet tongue into his mouth. The voice of reason in the back of Philip’s brain is telling him that something’s wrong and he should pull away, but Trevor kisses him so deftly that it’s hard not to go along with it. 

Trevor kisses Philip like he really _cares_. It feels like he actually thinks their broken, troublesome ‘historian’ is worth something. He makes it feel _right_. He kisses Philip as sagely as he does everything else, and Philip finds himself surrendering to that wisdom. 

The kiss becomes two, becomes three, deepens, and intensifies. He never thought about it before. Never thought about Trevor in that way. But it feels good to be wanted. To be held. He savours the human contact and doesn’t even startle when Trevor’s hands slide down his body, dipping beneath his sweater and unfastening his belt. 

Trevor works the clasp open. He parts their mouths just enough for Philip to open his eyes and peer up at his closest friend. Trevor murmurs, “Sorry, ‘guess the run got my endorphins up.” He doesn’t look _sorry_ exactly—is just saying it matter-of-fact, like he surprised himself with that desire. Then he adds, “You’re cute when you’re like that, you know.”

“That?” Philip’s so confused.

“Thinking. ...Or maybe brooding.”

Philip snorts and shakes his head, “I wasn’t brooding...” but he’s cut off when Trevor kisses him again. He kisses Trevor back. It’s so _warm_. Trevor’s heavy in his lap and leaning in so close that it’s suffocating, but it’s thrilling. He doesn’t quite understand what’s happening, what changed with them so suddenly, but he trusts Trevor implicitly and can’t bring himself to wake up from the dream.

The washroom door slides back. He’d forgotten anyone else was over. When he turns to look, Trevor vanishes from his arms. 

Another Trevor, probably the one actually in his universe, walks out. That Trevor, the real one, glances at Philip. 

Philip’s arms are still out, holding a phantom that’s no longer there. He looks down and finds his belt done up, though he can still feel Trevor’s fingers working beneath it. 

Trevor asks, “Who was it this time?” like it’s completely normal. 

There’s a long, awkward pause where Philip thinks of lying. But there’s no judgment in Trevor’s voice, never is, and Philip swallows and admits, “You.”

Trevor’s eyebrows lift the barest fraction. Even he seems surprised, but not as much as Philip would’ve thought. Then he asks, “Was I any good?”

Philip lets out a nervous laugh. He doesn’t say, but does think: _yeah, really good._ Maybe that shows on his face, because Trevor’s lips quirk up as he beelines over. 

He asks, patient and forever understanding, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Philip kind of does. He’s surprised but relieved that Trevor isn’t grossed out. He thinks on it for a few seconds, then says, “Yeah. ...When I’m sure you’re real.”

Trevor smiles. He takes a seat next to Philip and reaches out, clasping Philip’s knee in support. When his hand withdraws, Philip’s eyes follow it. Then Trevor relaxes back into the couch and shuts his eyes, probably to mediate until Philip’s ready.

Philip appreciates that. He sinks back into Trevor’s comfortable presence and waits to be ready too.


End file.
